Back in my early twenties I used to squat illegally on National Forest land in a Cheyenne tipi my then-wife and I put together with canvas and lodgepole pines. I would work an entry leveljob in a restaurant I knew was closing after summer tourist season to make enough money to move inside for the winter. When the restaurant closed, I went on unemployment and wrote a novel as hard as I could until spring when I moved outside again.
In four winters, I wrote four novels. As soon as one was finished, I dashed off 120 to 150 query letters to agents and editors across America, asking them if they wanted to read my book. No one did. I could have been writing damn classics and no one would have known. Luckily for literary history’s sake, I wasn’t.
In a fit of pique, I wrote a letter to Kurt Vonnegut. As I recall, mostly I whined about the state of publishing. At the end, I asked him to read some of my stuff. Now, after bringing out eight or nine books of my own, I realize what a pushy son-of-a-bitch I was. but, amazingly enough, he wrote back.
This is what Kurt Vonnegut said.
The letter is typed on bond paper using a fairly old ribbon. It is dated November 25, 1981.
Dear Tim Sandlin,
I can’t begin to read all the stuff people expect me to read. I am smothered by manuscripts. Also: I have never acted as an agent, have never gotten anybody published.
Writing is a business like any other. You are going to have to hustle some. It would probably be smart for you, if you really believe in your work, to come to New York to persuade an agent to take you on. As to the indifference of publishers to queries by mail from unknowns: They simply can’t afford to read and evaluate the tons of stuff which is written in this enormous country of ours year after year. They don’t have that kind of money. So they leave it to the agents to conduct the talent searches. Agents themselves can’t afford to consider everything, either. They have to be wooed, which is why I suggest your coming to New York.
Sorry about that, and good luck.
Yours truly,
Kurt Vonnegut
He signed it in blue ink.
It’s odd that a man who had a phobia about semi-colons would use two colons in one page. And that “tons of stuff which is written” line isn’t quite right. I daresay he didn’t expect the letter to end up on a blog.
Sometimes I imagine what would have happened if I took his advice. I mean, at the time, I wasn’t living on pavement. Moving to New York was as bizarre an idea as moving to Mars. Or Tralfamador. Since then, I have published books, without moving, but I wonder if I did go woo, would I have bigger advances or print runs? Would I know people who go to cocktail parties and eat brie? Who can tell. We all make choices.
But, I think it was enormously kind of Mr. Vonnegut to write me a letter that wasn’t a copy/paste get-away-from-me-kid. I will always think well of him and cherish his books.

I find this blog both sweet and gross. Congratulations.
Hey Tim,
You remind me of a couple of the guys I went to high school with, especially the tipi part. Most of their time they spent tripping, I wonder sometimes what they ended up with. Just finished your Hendrix book and felt right at home most of the time. Some of it pissed me off, and parts made me uncomfortable, but that’s what makes a good read. I will now go back to my local library and find the rest. Keep it up…awww you know what I mean. Marcia in Las Vegas